​The road itself was easy to travel, which Bill was thankful for. Being the only way in or out of the mining city of Thesipae, the stone path had been trodden smooth by centuries of hooves, wheels and boots.

Above him and to his left were the colossal shadowy cliffs that sheltered the road from the endless wind of the Upperlands. It must have been almost midday, as a red glow was edging its way out from behind the darkness. Looking towards it he could see the sand clouds now, erupting into the sky like vapour. Had he no concept of up or down, that black cliff face could easily be mistaken for the ground, what with its precipice and the horizon being seemingly the same distance away.

The pulsating tails of sand and stone swam and coiled out of the reddening darkness and down in a sweeping plunge towards the desert at the base of the cliffs. Here, the sand would join with the ever-shifting dunes and troughs that make up the Thespian Sea.

When he first travelled to Thesipae, the simultaneously sparse and overbearing landscape had troubled Bill, he had previously been told that the sea was a footprint left from a giant some millennia ago, but it wasn’t long until he found it welcoming. The enormity of the cliffs and the desert used to compel Bill’s imaginings to linger on beings older and larger than gods with motives of which we are not aware and can never fathom. Older and wiser now, Bill is content in the knowledge that such beings would never go out of their way to bother him.

In fact, nothing ever bothered him on this road. Travellers were few and there were no native predators or beasts. Even bandits and highway robbers stayed away from the road due to the lack of places to conceal themselves; the bones of those that tried have long since been scattered by the rolling sands of the Thespian Sea.

So as the fingers of sunlight that grasped from across the dunes to his right reached the base of the cliff in front of him he was taken aback when he saw the figure of a great harpy blocking his path.

‘Halt traveller!’ the monstrous figure bellowed sweetly with the red glint of a grin. ‘In order for passage through this way to be allowed a riddle must be answered. Whomever may fail shall be devouredeth from the ground they stand on.’

The harpy looked down at him expectantly.

Bill wasn’t at all late, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sold anything at this point, even if he could afford it just fine.

‘Sorry, I’m late for meeting with a friend, I can’t really speak just now.’

The harpy held out a paw to stop him passing.

‘I am not sellingeth anything mortal I am -’

‘I’m sorry, Miss’ Bill interrupted forcibly and then, not wishing to insult her ‘It’s not because you’re a harpy, nothing like that, I’m just really late.’

‘I’m not a sodding harpy!’ snapped the harpy, sounding very offended.

‘I’m sorry, not a harpy, a…’ started the man dismissively.

‘A sphinx’ she interjected ‘I’m a sphinx and you need to answereth my riddle.’

‘Sphinxes have wings too dipstick. And look,’ she raised a front paw and waved it into his face ‘does this look like a bloody talon to you mate? No, it’s a paw. I’m half lion, half woman and maybe an eighth bird at the most. Sphinx, not harpy.’

That didn’t add up.

‘That doesn’t add up, that’s nine eights’ Bill explained.

‘I don’t care, I’m a sphinx okay? Not a harpy. And you know how I know I’m a sphinx and not a harpy!? Because I’m a bloody damned sphinx! Now are you going to answer my riddle or am I going to have to eat you?’

The harpy was clearly mad. Bill decided this conversation would end sooner if he just played along.

‘Okay, fine, let’s hear this riddle then.’

The harpy rolled her shoulders back and sat upright like a cat with strained regality.

‘What is that which in the morning goeth upon four feet; upon two feet in the afternoon; and in the evening upon three?’

Bill believed had heard this one before, but he couldn’t quite recall the answer. He would have believed it to be on the tip of his tongue had it not just then bumbled around the corner.

As it turned out, the answer was a shin-high ball of white downy feathers, padding down the path on four skinny pink legs. As it ran it was spasmodically popping like its insides were made of violent lemonade, and with each squeaky pop it grew a little bigger. After a short while, two of its legs disconnected from the fluff and plopped onto the ground, at which point its happy tortoise-like patter became a toddler inspired amble. Only seconds later, a third skinny pink protrusion began to emerge from the fluff and formed itself into the final leg. The ball presently spun about like a wonky stool, that had been indelicately thrown and had somehow landed the right way up. It then, very suddenly died, and its body softly disintegrated into feathery down. And there, amongst the pile of soft white remains, a new little thing emerged, with four shiny new pink legs. And so, within thirty seconds, the circle of its life began once again, like a piss poor phoenix.

‘Is that the answer?’ said Bill, pointing towards the fluff.

‘That’s not the answer I had in mind, no’ replied the sphinx absent-mindedly.

‘Is it not? I took it as that the morning, afternoon and evening were metaphorically indicative of a lifespan, something akin to how the period between the middle of one’s life and old age is often referred to as the Autumn Years.’

The sphinx recovered her bearings and had to mentally catch up with what the man had just said.

‘Well, yes, you’re right there, but it’s not the answer.’

‘Doesn’t matter; It fits the conditions. In the weekly quiz back home, if an answer was given that the pub landlord hadn’t considered, but was still correct, the player would still get the…”

‘Fine, yes, you are correct’ succumbed the sphinx shooing the man with her front paw.

‘Are you going to let me pass then?’

‘Yes, I was just about to do that’ she snapped with an air of a teenager who had just been told to pick up his sodding socks from the floor, they’re everywhere, honestly, learn some self-respect. ‘Don’t rush me, I need to squeeze up here first.’

There was an awkward few seconds as the sphinx had to half-climb up the side of the cliff while lifting its front leg to let the man pass. There was a little extra shifting to do to get his cart through the gap, and Bill had to move her tail out the way manually to clear enough space for the wheels. Neither said bye to one another as the man turned the corner round the next section of cliff.

​Once he was out of sight the sphinx caught the white ball creature in her paws and forced it into a crack in the cliff face with a cloud of feathers. She smothered it with a rock, so it was hidden from view just in time for the next victims to arrive, a pair of jewellery merchants clutching jingling trolleys with a silk sheet hiding the trinkets from view. They had come from behind, so the sphinx had to contort and shift around up and back down the cliff face to turn towards them.

‘Halt travellers! In order for passage through this way to be allowed a riddle must be answ-’

‘Look Leslie, it’s a giant cat with wings!’

The winged cat howled furiously.

‘I’m a sphinx! Seriously, do any of you people read at all? I’ve also got a massive woman’s head. You know, you wouldn’t see a Minotaur and shout “Look, that man has got the tail of a bull”. My enormous human woman head should grab your attention before the wings I would thinketh.’

‘Not really, I see woman’s heads on things all the time, it’s not often you get to see a cat with wings.’

‘Really? All the time? What creature do you supposedly see all the time that has a woman’s head?’ asked the sphinx sardonically.

‘Other women, mostly.’

The other lady had to nod in agreement.

‘Well sod you both then. You’re either going to answer my riddle or I’m going to eateth you, okay?’

‘Ooh, riddles? Let me try this one Sheryl, I’m good at riddles. Go on then.’

The sphinx gave them a cursive expectant look to see whether they’d pick up on the fact that she said she would eat them. If they didn’t pick up on that then they probably would be too dumb to answer the riddle, which was good, as the sphinx was hungry.

‘What is that which in the morning goeth upon four feet; upon two feet in the afternoon; and in the evening upon three?’

The sphinx bit her lips readily as the two women made thinking noises. She would give them thirty seconds before they would get devoured.

‘Ooh Sheryl, could it be one of those small round furry things we saw earlier?’

‘Yes, good thinking Leslie, is it one of those?’

‘No. No it isn’t because you made that up’ retorted the sphinx, scowling. ‘I’ve never seen this thing you’re on about. I don’t think it exists. Made up answers don’t count. Now get rid of the bangles and jewellery, they get stuck in my teeth. I can only eat one of you at a time so the other will have to wait.’

‘Look Sheryl, there’s more of them!’

From around the corner a steady platoon of bumbling fluffs rolled towards them with a chorus of muffled pops and an anarchic patter of footsteps.

‘Fine then! You may pass’ accepted the sphinx while sweeping an armful of the things towards the sand. ‘But you were very almost eaten there. Consider yourself lucky.’

‘Consider yourself luck too love’ replied Leslie pleasantly as if it was just a local way of saying goodbye.

‘Ta’ added Sheryll.

The Sphinx was wading into the Thespian Sea with as many of the fluff balls as she could carry and had just about buried them all under the sand before she noticed a fourth traveller was wandering down the path past her.

‘Halt!’ she called as she stormed back to the path as fast as one can storm when one is chest deep in sand. ‘You haveth to answereth a riddle to pass… eth, mortal!’

‘Is the answer going to be one of those fluff balls?’

‘Maybe not. You haven’t heard it yet.’

‘Is it the same riddle you asked those two ladies ahead?’

The sphinx didn’t answer, she was too busy thinking up a riddle.

‘What has two eyes, an ugly face and needs to piss off?’ she asked eventually.

‘I’m going to guess “me”’ he sighed.

‘Correct’ she said scathingly. ‘Now go on then, pisseth off.’

He left her to re-bury the fluff balls that had just emerged from the sand. Just as she had finished burying the one that had just escaped from behind the rock, half a dozen more started rolling around the corner. It was at that point she considered that she may have been cursed.

For many weeks the first sign of the coming of the sphinx was a soft and distant din, something akin to the uneasy rumble of thunder or of the directionless murmur of earthquakes, albeit not quite as deep. Imagine what the footsteps of corgis would sound like if there was an army of ten-thousand coming for you.

Then, during the moments when most people in the village were in that troubled state where they can’t work out whether the vibration they were feeling was a coming storm or just an upset stomach, one keen eyed youth may spot movement on the horizon. At first, it would look like flowing white lava bubbling slowly over the crest of the hill. Then, as it came to a sharp drop or a large rock, from the way that they tumbled down, one would recognise it as a cluster of small living balls. The whiteness would begin spreading over the hillside like melted butter, fingering its way between bushes and hummocks. About then, as the neighbouring hills were claimed by the whiteness, the din would eventually edge into clarity as a clamour of popping noises, which was usually followed by the wordless general agreement that the apocalypse had finally come.

As people would either flee in the opposite direction, barricade themselves into their homes or frantically search for the town priest who, unbeknown to them, had already thrown herself down the town well, they would fail to notice the large pouting figure at the centre of the scourge. The petulant sphinx would be wading through the sea of fluff at the speed of an average angered parent, occasionally tripping or stumbling when the creatures had disguised a hazard of the landscape beneath their conglomerate form.​ Once she had navigated her way to the centre of the town and every stream, alley and stable was covered in the feathered beings, anybody listening out for it may have heard her shout out asking if anyone had seen a witch recently. Someone may then reply that there had been one by the name of Mrs Grinn who had passed through less than a week ago, and then add that she said she would be heading for a neighbouring town about eight miles away, to which the sphinx would thank them and then meander her way in that direction, leaving behind a trail of downy feathers and skinny pink legs. Six hours later, once they’ve recovered from the experience they may then figure out what happened to the priest and hurriedly find out if anyone has enough rope to winch her out of the well.

On the forty-fifth day of her sleepless search when there were more fluffballs than there was landscape there came a sudden wind. It erupted like lightning from about a mile ahead, carrying with it a spiralling funnel of earth and white feathers. The tunnel swung in the sky like a ribbon in a ravine, pulling the clouds downwards like a drain as it grew higher and higher.

Tired and hungry as she was, the sphinx had assumed the twister was just another hallucination, or she had, until the wind suddenly lurched her forwards along with numerous fluffballs that were gathered around her. While they were light and buoyant and were flung remorselessly into the sky, she was heavy and was able to sink her claws into the earth to anchor herself before it had reached enough speed to carry her away. She drew in her wings so that they couldn’t catch the air like a ship bringing in a sail and hunkered down as dozens of fluff balls buffeted her back. Within seconds it cleared as if it had never been there. The sphinx raised her head from behind her paws and saw the fields around her for the first time in weeks. And there, right where the twister had appeared, was a crooked dishevelled caravan. Reckoning that this caravan belonged to the witch, the sphinx bounded towards it.

Mrs Grinn was washing something outside her wagon-house in a large wash basin when the sphinx reached her.

‘You must be Mrs Grinn’ said the sphinx, panting out of exhaustion but attempting to retain formality. ‘I have heardeth much about you, but I was not prepared for the extent of your powers. They are beyond anything I could imagine. You haveth helped me to no end. I am forevereth in your debt.’

‘Eh?’ said the witch. ‘Oh, you mean the wind? That wasn’t me, that was this blasted stick.’ Without moving from the her washing basin she dispassionately kicked over an ornately sculpted mahogany staff that was rested on a rock. The green translucent stone imbedded in its end flickered and glimmered upon the grass where it fell. ‘Mrs Berrit here was trying to avoid her weekly bath by hiding up a tree, the irksome molly. I thought I’d make a little breeze to encourage her down. Didn’t expect the damn staff to be so bloody powerful though. You’d think they’d put a warning on it or something. I lost the tree, but I caught the cat!’

She hauled up a bubbly mess from the wash basin and held it up proudly. From underneath the foam, the sphinx saw the most horror-stricken cat she could have ever imagined. The unfortunate thing was petrified into a standing position, its four paws sticking forwards like table legs. Its wide criss-crossed eyes got only the briefest glimpse of sunlight before being submerged into the soapy broth again.

‘Well, regardless of your motivations, you have riddeth me of the cursed beasts that have afflicted me for the past month and a half. I can finally eat again! How can I ever repay you?’

‘Cursed beasts? You mean those white fluffy things? Oh no, they’ll be back next rainfall.’ She nodded upwards to indicate the sky.

The sphinx looked up to see that the clouds above were now speckled with little pink legs. The despicable things were still there then.

‘In that case, Mrs Grinn, I needeth your help.’

She told the witch the events up to that point, making sure to stress how damned insufferableth the fluff balls were.

‘I would have thought the solution would be easy’ said the witch. ‘Eat the devils.’

The sphinx scoffed. ‘We sphinx’s have higher standards than most creatures. We will only devoureth those that we can prove are not as smart as we.’

‘How noble of you. And how is the sphinx population doing nowadays?’

‘I have no idea. I haven’t seen a sphinx in years to asketh.’

The sphinx thought she saw the witch roll her eyes. Such blatant impertinence in the face of a beast so formidable as a sphinx was laughable. She must have imagined it. These little creatures were often hard to read what with all their features being so small.

The witch hung Mrs Berrit up by her tail from a corner of the wagon and began towelling her down with a hessian rug. The cat came to and started snarling and writhing from within the bundle. She left it there to enter her little home. The sphinx waited outside patiently, trying to avoid eye contact with the thrashing little creature. The witch returned presently with a hand sized tube plastered with strips of soft felt, glittery paper and a multitude of bright, clashing colours.

‘Rain maker’ explained the witch. ‘Two turns should do.’

There was the sound of grains of rice trickling down a chaotic stairwell of lollipop sticks, twice over, and then a column of rain less than a foot wide pillared down from the sky. With that pillar of rain came a single fluff cretin.

The witch snatched it up as it scampered damply towards the Sphinx.

‘Eat it’ she demanded, holding it up to her face.

The sphinx flinched backwards, appalled. She almost retched at the idea of it.

‘No’ said the sphinx. ‘It is against our code to do so. It must at least try to answereth the riddle.’

‘Ask it.’

‘To what end? It can’t answer.’

‘Ask it!’

The sphinx asked the fluff-thing the riddle. It wriggled dumbly and dropped another leg.

‘See, it doesn’t know the answer. Now you can eat it.’

‘That’s not proof of it being dumbereth than me. It has to answer wrongly.’

‘Look at it!’ she yelled. ‘Look how dumb it looks. Thousands of them, travelling across the land directly towards a starving and desperate killing machine. Doesn’t that sound a dumb thing to you? They’re practically asking to be devoured. It wouldn’t surprise me if one could clamber up into your mouth and into your stomach completely by accident. How dumb would that be? Thousands of them. Look at them up there, they’re out of control. They need a predator, they need to be eaten to keep them in check and they came directly to you! Everyone already knows the answer to the riddle anyway, you’ve been using it for centuries. You’re dying out. It’s destiny that these came to you, don’t you see? Eat it!’

From the sphinx came a sudden and almighty din of a thunder deeper that the earth. In it was a single word. ‘No’.

‘I will not defy the code passed down through generation of my species. I cameth to you for magic. I will not compromise to such base resolutions.’

Mrs Grinn pursed her lips but showed enough respect not to argue. She went back into her caravan with her rainmaker in hand and for a moment the Sphinx though would not come out. But she did, and when she came out she met the Sphinx in the eye.

‘I can’t do much about the fluffy things unless I know where they came from, which I don’t. But if you’re wanting to stick with the riddle thing, the best I can think of is to find you a new riddle. A lot is riding on this so we’re going to need a stonking good riddle. Fortunately for you, there’s a book of them I know about. The worlds most difficult riddles and unanswerable questions all collected in a little book, guarded by an ancient by the name of Quizmaster. That sound good?’

The sphinx grinned fiercely. Her prize had been found.

‘Soundseth perfect.’

The journey to Quizmaster’s abode was long and arduous but not all that interesting from a narrative point of view. Neither Mrs Grinn nor the sphinx had any real moments of character development; they both had the same stubborn worldviews that they did when they started the quest. The cat Mrs Berrit learned the worth of a good bath at some point along the way but that’s not really relevant to the story. Anyway…

They entered Quizmaster’s home through a large hexagonal doorway in the centre of a vast marshland. The only remnants of the ancient kingdom of Trivatia were the peaks of the enigmagician’s towers which bulged through the mulch and moss resolutely, refusing that the society they represent should disappear entirely. Any layman who passed by would have little idea that they walked over cities and castles as well as plashet and bog, so far did the old civilization sink. The enigmagicians delved too deeply into the knowledge mines for tidbits of information and lesser known facts. The knowledge they sought eventually consumed them, and their cities with them. They learned to late that some trivia is not for mortal minds to know.

The doorway that the sphinx, the witch and the cat entered through was in fact a window, which became clear as they entered the Quizmaster’s chamber. In this room alone could they see the city for how it used to look. There were no walls without shelves, even the six sloped faces that formed the ceiling were laced with shelving block full of ‘Did You Know?’ and ‘101 Interesting Things’ preserved as ancient texts. At the centre of the chamber sat a man who looked as old as the ruins outside and exuded an air of liquid wisdom which made his presence in the visual world hazy and dreamlike. His beard was long and white and curled much like the question marks that speckled his silvery purple robes.

‘Ah’ he said both wearily and amiably like only the elderly can do. He slid the sudoku he was working on to the side. ‘I see I have guests. Come in, make yourselves comfortable.’

After wiping her feet on the thicker grass outside, Mrs Grinn took a seat on the opposing chair to the enigmagician, Mrs Berrit took a seat on Mrs Grinn and the Sphinx found a spot where she was least likely to knock several books from the shelves.

‘How can I help you young ladies? Would you care for a crossword? Maybe you would like some useful tidbits about local history to impress your peers?’

‘Just the book, ta. Then we’ll be out your hair’ said the witch.

‘Ah’ said the old man. He leaned forwards across his desk, so he could study the witch more closely. ‘It’s interesting. Of the dozens upon dozens of men and women, spirits and beasts who have attempted to claim this book, you are only the fifth who has been wearing maroon coloured socks.’

As he sat back, his hook shaped beard remained on the desk before him. ‘In order to earn the knowledge enclosed in this book you must first prove yourself worthy of it. You must answer a riddle, but first I must warn you of the consequences. Should you answer incorrectly, your souls will join my own peers to suffer and choke in the pits of this damned city. You will spend eternity with your questions unanswered, doomed to contend with conflicting knowledge, never knowing what truth is and what is lie. I have guarded this tower for almost twelve-hundred-and-fifty-eight years. That’s equivalent to thirty-six mortal lifespans, or one-hundred-and-sixty-eight times the lifespan of a mallard duck. Never in that time has anyone answered this riddle correctly. All have joined my old people in their doom.

‘However, if you answer my riddle correctly, then my task will be complete, and I along with all my people and the accursed who answered incorrectly can pass on to the afterlife and be free from this purgatory. So, do you still wish to hear this riddle?’

‘Please’ said the witch.

‘Verily’ said the sphinx. They had come so far. The fluff balls were held back only by the bog, and there were still more to come down next rainfall. She was starved for certain if she didn’t try.

‘As you wish.’ The old man squared his shoulders. ‘In a secluded town where beards are forbidden there lives a single barber. The barber abides by a single rule. The barber shaves only the beards of the men who do not shave themselves. As well as this, no man in this town trusts anyone but themselves or the barber to shave their beards. With these facts in mind, can you tell me, who shaves the barber?'.

The witch elbowed the sphinx and stood up to leave. ‘There we go, is that riddle good enough for you?’

‘But we haven’t answeredeth it?’ replied the sphinx, bemused.

‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Grinn, ‘and neither has anyone else, by the sounds of it.’

The sphinx grinned. The witch was indeed a genius.

‘Wait’ said the aged enigmagician. ‘Are you not going to try to answer it?’

‘We have what we came for old man’ said the sphinx. ‘Thank you, for thee have helped me greatly.’

‘Are you not going to at least try?’ He was on his feet now, waddling around his desk to follow them. ‘I’ve only got three more sudoku books to finish. I’m ever so bored here. I’ve already memorised all the trivia. I don’t have to doom you. You can try to answer the riddle doom free if you want? No consequences, on me.’

Something incomprehendible from down the stairwell growled omnipotently.

‘Okay, I guess I don’t have the authority to do that.’

They left the hexagonal window of the castle tower as the old man spat arguments into the void under the carpet. ‘You understand I was trying to trick them? Of course I wasn’t giving them a freebie I know I’m not allowed to do that.’

Droplets speckled the puddles and channels that weaved through the bog like wrinkles. Soon there would be hundreds of the fluff things tumbling down the stone towers and into the thick mire of this dead city. No matter, they were inconsequential now. The sphinx laughed in triumph. She would feast like a queen tonight.

‘Don’t get too cocky missus’ said the witch. ‘It may be the outcome you wanted but that doesn’t mean it’s the outcome that’s best for you.’

‘Oh shusheth. You are simply salty that you couldn’t solve the issue the easy way. You were wrong to assumeth that a sphinx would rebuke her ancient code for such a base affliction such as hunger. We are madeth of sterner stone than that.’

‘Fairy nuff’ said Mrs Grinn, as she turned off to enter her wagon-house which the sphinx had somehow failed to notice. Was it the same one, or did the witch just know where to find these things? ‘Well, my role is done. What do you have as payment for me?’

‘Payment?’ the sphinx scoffed. ‘Your payment is that I don’t asketh the riddle of you myself. Be content that you have served a beast as great as I and have lived to tell the tale.’

‘Well then’ the witch accepted graciously, ‘I guess our business is done then.’ The cat hopped in through the door, but the witch paused before she was fully inside. ‘Just to warn you, any other witch would have turned you into sand for refusing payment. It’s not in our nature to accept insults with a blind eye. Do you understand me?’

‘I understand a threat when I hear one crone. Do not be such a fool to underestimateth my hunger. I am interested to know how witch meat compareth to human. Be glad I don’t satiateth that desire.’

The witch nodded. ‘Go on then, you’ve got travellers to devour, haven’t you? It’ll be all the easier now you’ve got your new fancy riddle.’

With that, she closed the door.

Moths are useful for many things, if you have the right skills. Their bland colour lends potential to pull the tone of magic to any direction you want. Their fuzzy texture makes well for binding other ingredients. And they’re small, so they’re easy to store and easy to breed. What rice is to the culinary world, moths are to sorcery.

For example, with the correct selection of mushrooms (or a fungal staff for larger quantities) you can increase the size of the moth, as well as change its shape and form to be anything you desire, so long as their mass isn’t changed too much. Their instinctive attraction to fire can be manipulated with a delicate incense so that they instead follow a particular object, or creature. And the triality of caterpillar to chrysalis to moth lends itself to a multi-form creature and one can even go so far as to cycle through these forms independently. With some additional nutritional value and some herbs for taste one with the skills of Mrs Grinn could easily keep an endangered species alive single-handedly, with such a creature.

They can even be taught words, though admittedly not that many, due to their diminished capacity for memory. Any phrase taught to a moth-creature would be repeated aimlessly, what with it lacking context for the phrase, and other similar creatures would likely pick it up and start repeating it themselves. Not something one would do if they had any susceptibility to finding such thing a nuisance.

One such creature, newly born, hobbled out of Mrs Grinn’s window dumbly spouting its phrase in a pippy voice like that of a Guinea-Pig.

A handful of others that had dropped from a cloud were now repeating the phrase as they emerged from the muck of the sunken city. Dozens upon dozens now calling a cacophony this one phrase, as they trundled across the bog: ‘The barber is female.’

Written by Calvin Lowe​Illustrations by Florence Scott of Ghastly Creatures​Concepts and ideas from the collective stream of consciousness of Alastair Fleming and Calvin Lowe